


destined to fail but determined to succeed

by menami



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menami/pseuds/menami
Summary: After the fall of Gandalf in Moria, the Lady Galadriel appoints a new member to the Fellowship, hoping that keeping the number whole will ensure it's success. But it seems she couldn't have chosen a stranger person for the job.(mostly just drabbles of my middle earth doctor during the war of the rings. may grow into something bigger.)





	1. Chapter 1

Frodo had never seen someone such as the figure presented to him now. He had almost mistaken them for another great man of Gondor, senior in both age and wisdom to the likes of Boromir or even Strider. But when he got closer, he saw the pointed ears, long and slender, similar to his own. Too tall for hobbit or dwarf-kind, yet they seemed too razed by time to be elvish. The air about them brought to mind Gandalf, causing a new ache in his heart to rise merely in the memory of his departed companion. But Gandalf was different from this figure. Even though Gandalf had been like friend and family to Frodo, he had come to know  a new side to him, the side that the elves of Rivendell had called  _ Mithrandir _ and regarded with the air of something beyond even a lord of elves. There was none of that high air to this figure. They were almost too real for that. And yet, Frodo surmised, hardly real at all. He could not come to a conclusion about them.

“Do I have something on my face, little one?” the figure mused, a small smile pulling behind a bearded face. “You’ve been staring for some time.”

Frodo started. “Ah, sorry, er-”

The figure clasped a hand on Frodo’s uncloaked shoulder, and he was surprised to find it was cool to the touch, not icy but comforting in a way that could only be to someone who knew Gandalf, for the withered thin hands radiated that same soft coolness as these roughened, strong palms. “You may call me the Doctor. I’d like to welcome you to Lothlorien. You can forget your traumas here, for now. You’ve seen so much already.”


	2. Chapter 2

As with most people he met, Sam did not trust the Doctor immediately, and certainly not the way Frodo did. It was enough to have yet another complete stranger joining their party, but one that  _ nobody _ knew save for the Lady Galadriel and Aragorn made him wary. At least with Boromir, Gimli, and Legolas there was a great deal of mutual knowledge about them. But this Doctor was a mystery, and every new thing he learned only seemed to bring up two more things he didn’t know about the elf-like figure. 

But Frodo took a liking to them quickly, and Sam knew exactly why.They filled a hole in Frodo’s heart that had been carved out when the Balrog took Gandalf. Indeed, the old elf-friend was similar to Gandalf in many ways, from the carefully crafted staff they carried to the almost-magical air that flitted about him. But they were not Gandalf. They were not a wizard, and they were not a friend. They were a stranger that they were expected to trust with the importance of their quest, and expected to fill an empty space that even Aragorn couldn’t take up.

 

It was a sleepy night in Lorien when Sam left his gently snoring master’s side to finally approach the Doctor. He seated himself next to them at the end of the pavilion and was greeted with a friendly but curt nod. He returned the gesture and worked his way through his words carefully before saying them.

“I don’t mean no offence, Master Doctor, and I’m deeply sorry if offence is indeed taken, sir, but, what are you? You’ve the ears of an elf or a hobbit, but you’re not exactly stunted of height like us, nor are you fair and tall like the folk you home with. And your face resembles that of a man, but that can’t be right, can it?”

The Doctor chuckled softly. “No, that’s not right either. And I’m no dwarf, either, if that were your next guess. I’d say I’m about as complicated a being as your dear master Frodo is these days.”

To this comment Sam felt a small flare of indignance lick at his chest. “My master is a shining example of a proud hobbit, no more, and no less! He’s simple in the best of ways, far from what you seem to be. I’m offended you’d suggest otherwise!”

At this sudden change of temperament the Doctor hardly seem taken aback. “Well, if you can’t see the differences to which I’m referring to, then you may just be as wise as your name suggests, little one. But I promise you I meant no ill will in the comment, although I am saddened that you see me in that light. Your master is indeed an exemplary hobbit, but he is more than that now, as well. It’s his burden, and his experiences. One does not come back from what he’s seen unchanged. But I can understand. But if you must know, what I am has no name. I am neither elf nor man, and if I am a wizard it is a poor excuse for one. I am merely who I am, whether I am called Jonathan or the Doctor, elf-friend or kingsman, I’m afraid there will never be one like me. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, for me or for your master, but it’s a lonely experience. He is lucky to have you.”

Sam wasn’t expecting the last comment, and it spread a blush across his cheeks that could barely be seen by the moonlight. If he could’ve thought of words to speak in response to this, he would have no chance to say them, for the Doctor now stood, rising to his whole height not two feet taller than the average hobbit. “Get some rest, Master Samwise. The roads ahead will not provide nearly as comfortable accomodations, I recommend you enjoy them while they last.” And with that he turned and left, his cloak swaying with moment and the gem within his staff giving one last glimmer in the moonlight. And Sam was still unsure, as he would likely be for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sam's dialogue is just.... super fun to write.
> 
> find me on tumblr @doctormarz!


	3. Chapter 3

“Peregrin Took,” spoke a tired, gruff voice. For a moment, Pippin had forgotten their newest party member and the weird looks he’d gotten from them since they first met. “That is your name, is it not?”

Pippin squared his shoulders but didn’t turn back to face them. “Everyone calls me Pippin. You shouldn’t be an exception.”

The Doctor hummed. “Well. Pippin, I have a question.”

“Alright, spit it out then.” He spared the quickest glance at the Doctor, noting that their tired features seemed deeper than ever. They’d only barely left. Even Merry lasted longer than this.

“Are you okay?”

Pippin stopped in place, causing the Doctor to nearly trip on him. And then, suddenly, he quickened his pace. “Of course I am. I’m fine!”

“You’re young. Incredibly so, according to Frodo. You’ve not even come of age.”

“Oh, really? That’s news to me.” Pippin flashed a glance at the Doctor, who seemed unfazed by the sarcasm. “I am _twenty-nine_ years old. I can take care of myself. Elrond sent me on this quest, and I won’t let him down.”

The Doctor was silent for a moment. Pippin continued his work of gathering firewood, easily finding old, dry boughs within the undergrowth. The Doctor helped by holding what Pippin found and keeping an ear out for any danger, but Pippin didn’t understand why Aragorn trusted the elf-man so quickly. So far, he mostly shared Sam’s distaste of the Doctor. They’d done nothing to prove themself to him but take the place of someone much better than them. The memory of Gandalf still burned raw every time they saw the staff his older companion walked upon.

“I know you don’t trust or care for me. I understand. But young Merry was worried for you. He tells me you’ve been acting strange.”

With this, Pippin sighed and sat down. Boromir could wait for his firewood, it’s not like Aragorn wanted a fire anyway. “Of course he’s worried. I couldn’t hide it from him if I tried. I just miss Gandalf, is all. I’ve never really lost anyone, you know? I never even imagined Gandalf _could_ die.” He felt his eyes start to sting and swallowed it down. Not here. “You can tell Merry I’m fine. He should’ve just asked me himself.”

“He said you wouldn’t talk.” Pippin grunted, not looking the Doctor in the eye as he sat down next to him. “He really cares about you. Is he your brother?”

“No. I don’t have any brothers. He’s my cousin." Pippin's voice changed as he began to speak more smugly. "Directly, in fact. But, he’s also my third cousin. Frodo’s also my cousin, or, well, more specifically, my second cousin once removed.”

The Doctor blinked blankly at him. “I don’t know what any of that means.”

“Well, you see, me and Merry share a grandfather - that’s the simplest of them, his name was Aldagrim Took, but my great-great aunt, Mirabella Brandybuck, is Merry’s great-grandmother, also making us third cousins. While my great great grandfather, Gerontius Took, though everyone called him the Old Took ‘cause he lived so long, he was Frodo’s great-grandfather, on his mum’s side. Which is where Frodo gets his cunning, ‘cause it sure as Shire-talk wasn’t from the Baggins part of him, I promise you.”

The Doctor thought they might have whiplash, and instinctually rubbed their neck. “That’s…” they started, but they couldn’t find the right way to finish his statement.

“Still don’t get it?" Pippin rolled his eyes. "That’s fine. You’re not a _hobbit,_ I wouldn’t expect you to. We care a great load about our family trees back in the Shire. There’s a lot of pride in being from a long line of thains.”

“What about Sam, then?”

“Oh. He’s Frodo’s gardener.”

“Ah.”

They sat in silence for a long moment before Pippin remembered why they’d left camp in the first place. “Oh, if Merry’s not worried about me yet…” He stumbled to his feet, accidentally tripping over the pile of timber the Doctor had lain at the feet. He stumbled, and nearly slammed his head into a rock jutting out of the packed earth before the Doctor caught him by the arm. Gently, they helped Pippin back into a decent standing position.

“Careful. You wouldn’t want to spill that blood you’re so proud of.”

Pippin could feel his pointed ears burn red, and whispered a quiet _thanks_ before returning to the firewood and starting down the hill.

The Doctor started after him, wondering if it was a good sign that Pippin had opened up like that, or if he didn’t care who his audience was so long as he could brag about his family line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pippin is a Kid and Trauma is Hard
> 
> also, im not sure if there'll be one of these chapters for the whole fellowship before we get to the Action but i know there's at least a legolas one coming
> 
> find me on tumblr @doctormarz!


	4. Chapter 4

Legolas had hardly said a word to the new companion. Not that he had anything against them, like some of the smaller members of their party. He simply was trying to work something out: why was this not-elf so familiar?

Something about them reminded them of someone back home. Not in the way that they brought up the memory of Gandalf, but more in the way that Legloas was certain they’d met before. But if they had, the Doctor had made no indication of recognizing him. Maybe it was something in their stride, which was long and meaningful despite their shorter legs and old appearence. Or the odd things they said, in both the speech of men and Sindarin, that brought Legolas back to an old day back in Mirkwood.

For some time, he resigned to himself to try and figure this out, but when he could not piece together this puzzle on his own he figured he had no other choice but to ask.

The Doctor rode in the boat with Legolas and Gimli, and the two took turns paddling as Gimli regaled them through the night with tales of bravery that Legolas doubted were real. But at some point the conversation came to a lull, and Gimli started to doze off, perhaps not physically but mentally, absolutely. That dwarf had less of an ability to be quiet than Pippin and it seemed to Legolas that he only stopped to breathe when he slept.

“Doctor,” Legolas started, and heard a hum of acknowledgement from behind him. “I think I know you.”

The Doctor kept paddling, smooth as ever. “I think I don’t understand what you are saying. We’ve known each other for at least a week now, although time in Lothlorien is confusing at best.”

“Nay, I mean that I have met you before. I swear I have.”

Another beat of relative silence, filled only by the soft flow of water and Gimli’s hearty snores. “You might have. I’ve been around a very, very long time.”

“You do not recognize me, then?”

The Doctor sighed. “I do. But from a time I have nearly gotten to forgetting. You were just a lad the first time we met.” The Doctor seemed to think for a moment, before continuing, “Your father called me  _ Luindir.” _

For a rare moment, Legolas was startled. You would not be able to tell from looking at him, but the statement made no sense. Luindir, as Legolas remembered them, was an elf with bright, youthful eyes and soft brown hair that curled like a man’s. They had traveled with Mithrandir before, astride a lordly mare who boasted a spear-like horn upon her brow. In any way, they seemed as far in personality and appearance from the elf he remembered. But there was one detail that Legolas had overlooked: the staff that the Doctor carried was the same as Luindirs.

Legolas took a quick breath in. “What a strange race you must be, where aging changes your face entirely.”

“And a strange race you come from, where aging does nothing at all.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? If you recognized me, why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s nothing against you, I promise. There is much in my lifetime to remember, and some I would rather have left behind. Not you, of course, but sometimes the bad things from a time outweigh the good. I hardly relate with the person you called Luindir these days. I simply try to be the Doctor now.” 

The oars were passed now to Legolas, with a claim that the Doctor’s arms grew tired. Legolas took them, taking this one chance to gaze into the Doctor’s old, distant eyes. “Well, it is well met, then, Doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luindir means blue pilgrim, to match with gandalf's mithrandir, which means gray pilgrim
> 
> find me on tumblr @doctormarz!


	5. Chapter 5

The sun was high when the Doctor decided that Frodo had been gone too long, and that Boromir’s oddly convenient disappearance soon after was warranted an investigation from them. And it had hardly moved when they heard a small shout, the kind of shout that could only come from a small person, and the Doctor went running. They arrived in the clearing just in time to see Frodo stumble away from a looming Boromir and slip on the ring, an action which pulled at strings in the Doctor’s soul. They fought it down, and becoming certain they would be unable to find Frodo, they turned to Boromir.

If Boromir had lived long enough to tell the tale of what he had seen in the Doctor just then, he would describe it with terror. They, in the moment, seemed great and powerful, and their rage seemed to take form in a blinding light that Boromir could not recall facing before. And he became himself again, in fear of this figure.

“Boromir! What have you _done?_ You gave into the power of the Ring, you weak-hearted fool!” The Doctor’s hand wandered to their sword, but then fell to their side when they figured there was no point to it. “The Fellowship has failed,” they muttered under their breath.

Boromir looked like he was going to protest or defend himself, but he would have no chance when they heard the wicked horn blow.

“Orcs,” The Doctor stated, their voice low. “Boromir, it’s time to redeem yourself. Find the other hobbits, they went looking for Frodo too. Protect them. I’ll find the Ringbearer myself.”

Boromir stumbled to his feet and nodded curtly, his face full of the determination that the Doctor knew he would need. And once they were sure that Boromir was off, the Doctor turned to their own task.

 

They could not blame Boromir. In fact, if they could blame anyone, it would be theirself. They saw this coming from leagues away. They saw the way Boromir acted around Frodo, and heard the comments that should have told them exactly what was going on. But they didn’t _know_ Boromir. The only member of the fellowship they could really have claimed to known was Gandalf, and Gandalf was gone. Lost to the mines, lost to the Balrog.

They forced the ill thought from their mind as they made one more trudge up the hill. They had reached Amon Hen, and the seat appeared like it had been disturbed, the leaves shuffled from their place and the undergrowth crushed around the steps. But there was nobody there. There was naught a sound on the wind.

For a moment, they considered climbing up to the Seeing Seat theirself, if only to get some kind of perspective, but there was no time. Another horn rang out, this one not wicked, but clear and true, the horn of Gondor.

“What is he thinking, that Boromir? There is no help but the few of us to come, and what you summon may indeed be more trouble instead of the aid you need.” They paused. “But the day I do not answer a call for help is the day I cease being myself. I am coming, Boromir, son of Denethor!”

 

They were too late, but the fallen steward was not alone. They approached cautiously, but recognized the cloaked figure by his soft dark curls in an instant. He was crouched by Boromir where he lay against a large tree, and tears pricked his eyes.

“Frodo…” Boromir choked. “I am sorry.”

“Do not apologize! It was not you. It was the ring. I’m sorry my burden poisoned you. You did not deserve that, nor do you deserve this.”

“I couldn’t protect them, Frodo.”

“Who? I see no fallen here other than you. Boromir, what are you saying?”

“The little ones. Your young cousins. The orcs took them.”

Frodo froze, muscles tense. The Doctor strode over, finally revealing theirself. “Boromir, what do you mean? Why would they take them? Was Sam with them?”

Boromir seemed too weak to speak. “I am here, sir,” a softer voice said, breaking through the undergrowth. Sam still had his sword drawn and a thin layer of sweat lined his brow as if he had run a great distance to get here.

“The orcs,” Frodo said, picking up a shield from where it lay near Boromir. “They bear the mark of Saruman, Doctor.”

“Frodo,” Boromir said with much trouble. Everyone’s attention was on him again. “You must forgive me. I tried my best to protect them. But I would rather not die knowing you resent me.”

“I do not resent you! You fought bravely, and I would rather you get up now. You can’t die on us, Boromir. Please, won’t you get up?” Frodo’s voice wavered and a sob seemed to well up in his throat. He held Boromir’s large hand between his two small ones.

But Boromir died within the moment, a small smile gracing his worn face. Sam saw this too, saw how his chest ceased to rise and fall raggedly. Frodo shut the eyes of the steward’s son one last time, and then the two hobbits began to cry.

Frodo was first to pull himself out of this, turning to the Doctor whose thoughtful gaze had remained locked on the fallen soldier. “We have to get Merry and Pippin back. But I do not know what to do. I cannot bring the ring to Isengard. But I cannot leave my cousins to the whims of the Orcs. I am torn, between the loyalty to my family and the duties of the quest. If only Gandalf were here! He would know what to do.” And Frodo began to cry again, all hope having left him.

A loud, clear sound split through his tears, a whistle that seemed to rent through the air around them. The Doctor’s arm went limp afterwards, and Frodo and Sam watched him for a moment, not understanding the purpose of the action. But they soon understood, when the sound of hooves beating the earth came to their ears, and a beautiful mare burst through the woods. She was truly stunning, from her socked white legs that stood out starkly against her black body to the the braided white mane. But the truly unique bit was the horn that extended from her forehead, rounding to a cruel, shining point at it’s tip.

“Tärdis is her name. And she will bear me after your kindred. You, Frodo, must make your decision: to follow after me or to continue on. But I will not waste another minute here.” They frowned. “I am sorry to leave such a heavy decision on your shoulders. I know that you do not ask for it, but hear my counsel: do not blame yourself for this, and move on. Go alone or with company, but if you must leave the others, at least take Sam. He will not let you down.”

Frodo bowed his head, the decision clearly just another heavy burden laid on his shoulders. The Doctor propped the hobbit’s chin up carefully, looking him in the eye. “I trust you to do what’s right.” Then they pulled away and turned to Sam, who jumped to his full height of three feet and four inches. “Take care of him, alright? Don’t let him leave your sight.”

Sam looked like he was going to choke on his words, but he managed a forced nod. “Yes, I will, sir.”

And with one last sad look at Boromir, the Doctor swung theirself onto Tärdis’ back, taking off as fast as they could after the clear path the Orcs had cut through the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this chapter at 4am last night. dunno if its any good! but finally, some real plot stuff.
> 
> find me on tumblr @doctormarz

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! like most of my fics, updates to this will be sporadic at best, non-existent at worst. let me know what you think, though!
> 
> also, find me on tumblr @doctormarz


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